Defend the Dawn (Defy the Night #2)(82)

“Good.” I touch a hand to my ear, and I’m surprised when it comes away wet with fresh blood. “Who else knows of this?”

“No one yet,” Quint says. “Sullivan is a person of interest. That’s all.”

I look at Thorin. “Who among the guards?”

“Just us.” He hesitates and glances at Saeth again. “We all know how Huxley has an ear for gossip. We’ve been keeping close ranks.”

Huxley has more than just an ear for gossip, but I don’t say that.

I straighten from the wall, and Saeth steps forward to help me, but I wave him off. I still feel too unsteady, and I want to walk out of here on my own two feet.

“Violet,” I say to her. “Can I trust you to keep this secret?”

As I say the question, I know the answer. Even if she promises, even if she swears, this is too big.

She shakes her head anyway, and I must look fierce, because she throws up her hands. “Well, I had to tell Toby.” Her expression turns somber. “In case something happened to me. I needed someone to tell Ma.”

As if on cue, a boy of about ten years old comes skidding into the barn. He’s barefoot, too, and so quick that Thorin and Saeth both have weapons drawn before he even comes to a stop.

The boy cries out and flails backward, sitting down hard in the straw. But he doesn’t look frightened. He looks fascinated. “I saw the carriage, Vi! Are those real palace guards?”

“Real enough, boy,” says Saeth. “Is anyone else coming behind you?”

“No,” he says. Toby’s gaze skips past them, then looks to me and Quint. His eyes go even wider, and he scrambles to his feet. He bows to Quint, who’s in a half-buttoned red brocade jacket. “Your Majesty.”

“Ah … no,” says Quint. But he glances at the boy’s feet, then draws out his little notebook again and makes a note. He looks to me. “Your Majesty,” he says pointedly. “Perhaps we should depart while it’s still early.”

Toby looks at me, and his face scrunches up. “Him? Really?”

I’m too tired for this. My night has been too full of fear and loss and uncertainty, and I have bigger worries than anything I’ll find inside this barn. “No,” I say. “Quint. You said you brought a carriage?”

I don’t wait for an answer. I just start limping. Outside of the barn, there’s a carriage and one of the guards’ horses.

“Wait!” cries Violet. “Will I ever see you again?”

No. She won’t. But I can’t look into her desperate eyes and say that.

“I’m the king,” I say wearily. “Everyone sees me.” Before I climb into the carriage, I look at her. “You have my thanks, Violet. Truly.”

She looks so troubled. “We need the Fox,” she whispers.

I frown. “Forgive me. Please.” I climb into the carriage. Quint climbs in behind me. The door slams.

“We need you!” she calls shrilly. She bangs on the door of the carriage. “We need the Fox!”

“Violet!” a woman calls from somewhere distant. “Violet, what are you doing?”

“It was the king, Miss Tucker!” the boy calls. “The king was in your barn!”

I freeze, staring across at Quint. His expression is somber, his eyes searching my face, but he says nothing.

“What is this?” the woman calls. “What is happening?”

“A man was hiding in your barn,” calls Saeth. “He was impersonating the king. We’ve taken him into custody, miss.”

“He wasn’t impersonating him,” calls the boy. “He wasn’t—”

A whip cracks, and the carriage starts to rattle away.

We need the Fox.

The words hit me almost as hard as Maxon’s death.

She ran on bare feet. She sang all night.

And now I’m riding away in a carriage, leaving her behind.

“Your Majesty,” says Quint.

I blink, then look at him. “How did Corrick do this for so long?” I say. “How could he bear it?”

He frowns. “He had Tessa. He wasn’t alone.”

I swallow. I’m always alone.

Quint pulls a stoppered bottle of water from a trunk set under the seat, then pulls a handkerchief free. He wets an end, then holds it up. “May I?”

“I don’t need tending, Quint.”

“It’s morning. I can do my best to keep you out of sight, but if you don’t want to raise too many questions, you’ll need to be somewhat presentable to walk into the palace.” He glances at my leg, which is stretched across the space between us, because bending it hurts. “Presuming you can walk at all.”

I glare at him, and while Quint is always respectfully deferential, he’s not easily cowed. He lifts the handkerchief in response.

I scowl. “Fine.” I take the handkerchief from him, but when I touch it to my neck, it comes away with more blood than I expect. I frown and take another swipe, dragging against my ear, and I hiss at the sudden pain.

“Honestly.” Quint shifts across the carriage to sit beside me. “Allow me.” He doesn’t wait for an answer; he just plucks the cloth from my hand, adding more water from the bottle. Diluted drops of blood fall, disappearing in the velvet cushion. When he touches the handkerchief to my neck, I almost jump. Quint isn’t rough, but he’s not quite gentle either. My head aches, and the water stings where it finds broken skin, so I have half a mind to yank the handkerchief back out of his hand. I have to fight not to squirm like an errant schoolboy.